Lucky To Be Here
by WinnieMoo
Summary: A collection of Mallie one-shots, drabbles etc. Maddison, Callica, CalZona, Slexie and CaGe all mentioned/implied. Very random, no real plot
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is very random, there's no plot. I could be writing them as friends when they were ten and in the next chapter they could be old people celebrating their first grandchild. Some are just friendship, other's are more or just implied. This really lets my juices flow, so please review and enjoy.

Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one, other than my made up characters. The plots belong to me, however, if someone wants to expand on one of the shots, just PM me.

"You want me to be your bridesmaid?"

Little Grey nodded excitedly and anxiously, as only she could.

"But-but you've got your sisters and Cristina and… Izzie! You've got Izzie! She's working again, cancer's gone. Hell, you've even got Arizona, she'd love it, she's the total opposite of me."

Lexie smiled again. "But… Meredith and Molly, of course they're bridesmaids, but the rest of them… They don't mean much, y'know? I want someone who meant something to mine and Mark's relationship. That's you, Callie. You were there from the beginning! Before everyone else even knew."

Callie sighed and smiled tightly. "You know who else knew before everyone else? Derek's mom, that's who. I can get her on the phone right now, Mark keeps her num-"

Lexie caught her hand. "Callie, please? It would mean so much to Mark."

She was playing the best friend card. Bitch. "Fine. But I have very strict rules."

I wasn't that she didn't want to be in the wedding, it's that she would be on the wrong side of the altar. What was Lexie doing, asking her to be a bridesmaid? They tolerated each other at worst, at least from Callie's perspective.

Mark was her best friend. But of course he had Derek. She understood it of course, twenty-five years of companionship can't just be thrown away, but it was frustrating. In a deeply insecure part of her mind, she always figured that if she decided to pull the silent treatment on Mark for no apparent reason, he either wouldn't notice or wouldn't care. But the minute Derek pulls the same shit; Mark would jump like his little bitch.

_She_ should be the one getting to make the drunken speech at the rehearsal dinner and reception, the one handing over the rings at the actual ceremony. SHE should be the one calming Mark's last minute wedding jitters and having celebratory tequila shots with the rest of the guys. But instead, she would have to help pick out dresses or makeup and plan the shower and run after the older Grey's unruly twins. She had her hands full with her own three month old, thank you very much.

"So, I love you."

Mark looked up from the medical journal he'd been reading. "It's a little late for that now, Torres."

Callie narrowed her eyes. "Not like that asswipe."

He waved his hand for her to come closer. "Care to elaborate?"

She ran her fingers through her hair. "You—you were there for me during the George thing and the self-destructive phase and you fixed my nose and you went with me to get that tattoo. Granted, you were supposed to get one with me, but you were there and that's what matters. And I like to think I was there for you too, with that whole Lexie thing. And with Sloan. How is she, by the way? How's the kid?"

"You're going off topic." He noted.

She blinked. "Right! Right, well, why am I just a freaking bridesmaid?! Lexie and I aren't close!" Her demeanor changed to some serious attitude, " Derek's your best man, isn't he? It's always Shepard. Is it the hair? I have nice hair! Mine isn't going gray any time soon, like yours!"

Mark sucked in his breath and frowned. "So, let me just sift through… _everything _you just said and try to make sense out of it. I've helped you, you've helped me. I made your nose better and you now have a tattoo of half a wing on your wrist because I was supposed to get the other half. You're bridesmaid at my wedding which you seem to have a problem with and you're jealous of Derek because he's a groomsman. And you think your hair is better than mine."

Callie tilted her head. "It is. And I'm not… jealous per se, I'm pissed."

"Why?"

"Derek didn't even want you guys together, but I had to put up with it during my celibate phase! _I_ should be your best man! Your best wo-man, I mean."

Mark started laughing. Hysterically. He was actually crying he was laughing so hard. "Oh—oh God, Cal, you're hilarious." He slapped his own leg, still chuckling.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "It's NOT FUNNY! You BITCH!"

The laughter subsided and he pulled her down to sit in his lap. A few years ago, Lexie would've had a heart attack on the spot seeing them in this position, but she slowly realized it's just the way they roll. "I wanted you as my best wo-man as you so eloquently put it, but Lexie thought you'd be offended, what with all those butch lesbian stereotypes." He shrugged, "so she wanted you as a bridesmaid."

Callie looked away, embarrassed, "Really?"

Mark grabbed her chin to face him and smirked. "Really, you crazy freak."

Callie fought the triumphant smile forming on her face. "I'm sorry, it's just my hormones are still all out of whack from pushing an 8 pound 7 oz baby through my vagina."

"That was not an image I needed in my head."

Callie slapped his shoulder lightly. "Just shut up and hug me, Sloan."

As they were leaving the lounge, Derek walked in with some ideas for the wedding. All Callie did was laugh. Loudly. In his face. Before strutting out the door and closing it with a bang.

And so, three months later, on June 21st, the entire gang gathered in Meredith's backyard for the wedding. Callie and Derek shared the speeches, but she initiated the tequila shots and when Mark inevitably got a little nervous, she was right there coaching him through it. And best of all, she had the satisfaction of watching a clearly inebriated Cristina run around after all the kids.

A/N: Kind of a lame ending. Review!!! Should I continue? I'll write a few more, even if I don't get reviews, but please REVIEW!!


	2. Chapter 2

Title: You Take Up My Time, Like Some Cheap Magazine

Author: WinnieMoo

Summary: 'depriving Calliope Torres of sleep is something not even the devil would do intentionally' aka; Mark's musings as he watches Callie sleep aka; My attempt at banishing my LJ phobia and writing again.

Words: 957 (it's pretty short)

A/N: I don't know if the second person writing style works for me, but I'm trying. This just popped into my head after I read a drabble by someone else and I had to carry through.

Disclaimer: Any copyrighted titles used in this fanfiction, belongs to the owners and founders of said titles. The characters used belong to Shonda Rhimes, ShondaLand and the ABC network. This is a piece of work by a fan and is not being profited from in any way. The song lyric used in the title (Pulp- Like A Friend) is property of Pulp. The quote used was worded by an unknown person and does not belong to me.

READ THE QUOTE FIRST!!!

"Platonic friendship is the name given to the period

Of time between the first look

And the first kiss"

Anonymous

You found that quote in some little poetry book she'd given you (she's the only one who knows about your deep, literature geek side). You showed it to her immediately and you both laughed, after she said, "Well, I guess _we_ were never platonic."

You watch her now, as she sleeps; her tall frame sprawled out on top on of the covers.

You laugh when you realize this is how she's always been. Whenever she slept, fully clothed or not, she covered herself completely from head to toe in the duvet; only to unconsciously kick it off in the middle of the night. Whenever you ask her why, she always says her body carries enough heat. You agree with her, having full knowledge of the fact.

There's just enough light streaming in from the window and it hits her face perfectly.

You love the way she looks when she's sleeping. Because when she wakes up, well, that's when you find her most beautiful. She's one of the lucky ones. She's plagued by bed head, but it frames her face in the most beautiful way. After a rare good night's sleep, her eyes always shine brighter; her skin is softer and has more color. And her lips are redder than usual and bruised because she always sleeps with a pout. All of this perfection, without a speck of make up. (Except, of course, for the black eyeliner which never leaves her face. But you don't really count that.)

She stirs slightly and you get ready to –quietly- bolt from the room if she wakes up. She doesn't like you watching her sleep. She says it's freaky and calls you a pervert with a fetish for unconscious people. Then she yells at you to join her because she's cold.

This time she doesn't wake up though, and you sigh in relief because it means you can keep on observing her. But it's also a sigh of disappointment.

You actually want to accidentally-on-purpose wake her up so that she might yell at you to join her. But you don't because she just got off from a 36-hour shift and this is the most sleep she's had in days. She's been like this for an hour-and-a-half and, yes, you've been watching her the entire time.

You relax and continue leaning back. The night you two first met, she seemed full of confidence. She just _knew_ she was absolutely intoxicating. You were never one to let a woman take control; but _she_ picked _you_ up and that was alright.

Afterwards, you'd see her at the hospital and you'd frown at the sudden chink in her armor. She was running after the miniature dipshit, upset that he didn't fully see her awesomeness. She never knew that you did. You saw the glint in her eye. You appreciated that smile that no man or woman could resist.

Sometimes you wonder if she notices now. Even with the relationship you two are in now, you wonder if she notices that you always pay a little more attention than usual when she speaks. You wonder if she notices that you slightly enjoy your arguments with her because she gets that tiny twitch in her lip and she gesticulates wildly. You see the fire in her eyes and you're glad because that's the old Callie, even if she's back for only for a second or no matter what inane subject you were fighting over.

But her confidence is there again, and you're happy; proud even because you like to think you had a hand in returning it to her.

You're her work husband. Never in your life did you ever think you'd willingly let yourself become a 'husband' even if it was only for the duration of your shifts together.

But you'd it for her. Even legally, if she wanted.

The distant sound of six pagers going off at once remind you that you are, in fact, still at work. You're reminded that the clothes covering her body are her uniformed, dark blue scrubs, because she's actually still on that 36-hour shift. You're also reminded that –besides you- she's the only doctor that really makes those scrubs look that like were designed specially for her. There's something about the way they set off her eyes.

You're reminded that you're both in relationships with other people and one of you is decidedly happy and content in said relationship.

You're reminded that you've got a daughter and that Addison is coming in today to check aforementioned daughter's pregnancy. You're reminded that you really shouldn't be here; not because of your respective relationships or because she doesn't like it. You shouldn't be here because you haven't had a real conversation in weeks and she's kind of pissed at you but you don't know why.

You're reminded that you do know why, but you're scared of what's going to come out of your mouth when either of you confront it.

You realize the one of the thousand pagers going off is yours, but it's muffled by the desk you're up against. You're worried for second that it might wake her because depriving Calliope Torres of sleep is something not even the devil would do intentionally. You carefully switch it off, not even bothering to check who or where it's from. Because you're not the only goddammed plastics attending (though you are the best).

But mostly you switch it off because you want to stay where you are. You cannot deny that the few hours spent being your non-platonic best friend's freaky, perverted stalker is the best time you've had in weeks.

The END

PLEASE comment!! There's been a gajillion fics that follow this exact subject, but since I'm trying to get into the writing swing of things, I figured I should go for the tried and tested…


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